Sanctuary
by Strawberry Vibe
Summary: The story of how L got his name, how he became an orphan and how he became the world's greatest detective.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note. :)

A/N: Ok guys here it is! This is my prologue to my fanfiction about L's past! :D I'll be updating in the next week hopefully. I love writing about L as a child.

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_If you stared too hard at the walls of L's bedroom, you would be lost forever in a galaxy of different colours and soaked in words. White walls stretched towards the ceiling and were firmly planted in the midnight blue carpet. However, the walls were far from bare. Stars were drawn shakily all over the room in many different shades of many different colours. Some were drawn in felt tip, pencil crayon and even wax crayon. It was as if somebody had scattered the universe across his room._

_Each and every star was different and special to L. Some where the size of his tiny three year old palm, some the size of his thumbnail and some the size of his mother's hand. There were only about four hundred stars in total._

_The story of his stars was told to him by his mother when he was old enough to understand what was said and could string sentences together. The day he asked why._

_"Mummy, why do you draw a star on my walls every day?" The small toddler who was stood unsteadily on inexperienced legs looked up at her through his obsidian eyes and lively hair. His mother stared down at him warmly, the wax crayon held between her fingers as she reached up to draw that day's star. She knelt down to his height, her pale brown hair brushing against her shoulders and her green eyes glittering like the algae in the pond they had in their back garden._

_"Your father died before you were born. While I was still pregnant with you, a car hit him in the road and he was rushed to hospital. The doctor's did everything they could but they were too late. He held my hand and looked up at me with a brave smile. He whispered 'L...' and then before he ever got to finish his sentence, he passed away." She said gently, tears visible in her eyes. L was intelligent and even at his young age, he understood it all._

_"I named you L because it was his dying word. For every star in this room, there is a word and all of them begin with the letter 'L'. I can remember them all. Perhaps among this special galaxy, is the word that he was trying to say."_

_L looked at her curiously, she picked him up and placed him on her shoulders with a smile and began walking around the room, pointing out every star and naming the word to go with it. They went over it again and again, learning each star and every word._

_It was several hours before she gently put the exhausted L down and they stopped the tour. L was now familiar with every single star. L clung to her skirt and smiled as he buried his face in the folds in the fabric.  
"There is a star for every day of your life. When I got home from the hospital I began drawing them." She pointed to a shakily drawn star in deep purple in the middle of the wall.  
"This was the first one I drew. Love." L looked at her with great understanding. "I think that was what he was trying to say."_

_"No," L said with a sad smile. He took the blue wax crayon she had discarded earlier on in the day and stumbled towards the wall; with trembling hands he drew a star.  
"Live."_

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A/N: Reviews are very useful to me. (: I hope you all enjoyed it.


	2. Bells

Disclaimer: I don't own death note.

A/N: Ok guys here it is. :D I hope you all enjoy it. Oh and just a little warning, the story is rated T because this chapter has a little blood in it. It's not too descriptive though because I get very dizzy thinking about blood, so it SHOULD be ok for everybody. If I can handle it, I'm pretty sure the majority of you can. (:

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Late October air pressed its cold lips against L's bare feet as he crouched in his front garden. If he could help it, the eight year old child wouldn't wear shoes. The soft, wet mud squelched under his weight and the grass tickled slightly as he examined the small tracks imprinted in the lawn. A cat had walked through the garden fairly recently. Out of curiosity and partial boredom, he followed the tracks up to the fence and paused.

Glancing back at the house and back to the obstacle in front of him he considered his choices. Purely because he had nothing else to do, he scrambled over the fence and tumbled down into the neighbor's garden. He was surprised that his plain white shirt and jeans weren't stained.

The paw prints zigzagged across the garden and over the wall. Within ten minutes, L was several houses away from his own garden and had managed to actually find the cat. He was a little surprised to see the black and white creature sat nobly in somebody's garden. He had calculated that the chances of actually seeing the cat were roughly 15%.

L was particularly fond of cats and their curious personalities. Letting his guard down, he sat down and scratched the cat behind the ear.

"Visiting Mrs. Larson?" a voice asked causing L to jump and scare away the cat which was gone in a flash of fur.

Leaping to his feet in defense, he looked at the woman that had appeared the other side of the wall. She seemed old and under her arm was a basketful of washing.  
"Y-yes." L lied, suddenly realizing that he was trapped and the woman could find out that he wasn't where he should be.

"L isn't it?" She asked, a smile playing across her ancient lips. L nearly took a few steps back in surprise. He was certainly not expecting the woman to know his name. Furiously, he wracked his brain to work out how she knew.

---

_L clung to his mother's hand as they walked down the street. As usual, he was absorbed in the world; silently watching the occasional car saunter past or a stranger walk by. Some were acquaintances and would smile and nod; others were people L had never seen before in his life._

_However, it seemed that his mum seemed to know the elderly lady that had stopped in front of them; who had a smile stretched across her wrinkled face.  
"Is that you Amber?" She asked and L's mother smiled in return and nodded, it appeared they seemed to know each other. Out of slight interest, L looked silently up at the two adults._

"_It's been a while." His mother said brightly. "This is my son, L. L, this is Mrs. Wammy. She used to baby sit you while I was out working."  
_

_A small hand shook the woman's hand and L smiled politely._

"_We should catch up. How about you visit myself and my husband for dinner next Sunday?"_

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The memory from just over a week ago came to mind and L realized that the woman stood in front of him had been somebody who had kept an eye on him back when he was too young to remember things. Now their next door neighbor would look after L while his mum was out working

After deciding hastily that the quicker he responded, the sooner he could leave, he nodded.  
"Don't forget to remind your mum that we have dinner later." She said brightly before turning away and disappearing.

For a few moments, L stood frozen still, keeping his eye on the big clock that could be seen peeking over the roofs of the houses. It belonged to the church and it told him that it was five minutes to twelve.

After checking that nobody was around, he ran to the other side of the garden, making sure he made no footprints and made his way back over the fence. He wished that he had thought of something better to do rather than follow the footprints of a cat and end up in a situation that could get him in serious trouble.

Like a spider, he scuttled back to his own garden and he only relaxed when he was back in familiar territory.

_Clang!  
_

The large clock chimed out to alert everybody that it was noon. Glad that he had entertained himself for twenty minutes, L made his way to the house.

_Clang!  
_  
That was strange; the door was ajar and swinging ever so slightly in the wind. You could barely notice it from a distance but up close, you could see that it wasn't shut properly. A rare occurrence it seemed. He knew that he had closed it when he had left the house and he struggled to come up with a logical reason for it being open.

_Clang!_

His mother would never leave the house without him as L was only seven; in fact it was his birthday tomorrow. He turned around to see if there was a car nearby that could belong to a visitor.

_Clang!_

There was nothing to worry about. L knew that he was just blowing little things out of proportion after shaking himself up moments before. She could have just left the door open to let some air in. Still… None of the windows appeared to be open.

_Clang!_

He bent down to check the gap between the door and the doorframe. There seemed to be nothing around it that would have prevented it from shutting correctly. The plants in the garden didn't seem to have been watered in the past half hour either and L couldn't think of any other reason for why the door would be open.

_Clang!_

Slowly, he pushed the door and it swung open to show the hallway of the house. The warmth from the sun behind him stroked his back and exaggerated the shadows in the room. The dark red wallpaper looked almost dangerous as he nervously shuffled through the door.

_Clang!_Once again he checked the gap between the door and the doorframe. There wasn't anything on this side of the door either. Listening carefully, he clicked the door shut and tried to calm himself down.

_Clang!_

Silently he frowned at himself at how silly he was being. Nothing was wrong. An open door was nothing to panic about. However, his instinct told him that there was something about this that just wasn't right.

An eerie silence suffocated the building and caused L to panic even more. His instinct was never incorrect and he knew that something wasn't right here. He opened his mouth to call out for his mother but he was too alarmed to say anything and the atmosphere strangled him. What was that smell?

_Clang!  
_

A smell that made L feel sick to the stomach was mixed in with the air and tearing at his throat. It was a smell that caused him to become dizzy and disorientated. It was the warning. It was the smell of blood.

_Clang!_

Now without hesitation, he wrenched open the door to the living room which was to the left of him and almost threw himself into the room out of pure desperation. He was now completely ignoring the fact that if there was an intruder in the house, the chances of them being an adult were 93% and the chance of L overpowering an adult if they attacked him was about 2%.

_Clang!_

The sight in front of L's charcoal eyes was a sight that remained imprinted into his mind until the day he died. Shock shuddered through him as he stared at the blood splattered across floorboards and the cream walls stained with crimson.

In the middle of the room was his mother, crumpled on the floor, visible wounds gleaming, fresh and stinging across her chest and stomach. Her eye lids fluttering, and her lip trembling. She was only just alive.

L ran to her side and held on to her hand, praying and praying that she would never let go. A small gurgling noise could be heard from her throat and her lips parted. A word trying to break through to him.  
"L…" she said faintly, using her last breath to tell him everything she needed to in one way. With her final word said, she left this world.

_Clang!_

With bells ringing in his ears, L stared down at the only person in the world he had had and felt as if he were about to fall down next to her. It wasn't until much later that he realized that both of his parents had died whispering his name.

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A/N: Reviews would be incredibly helpful to me. Also, I really hope everybody was ok with the 'gore' there. xP I'd really feel bad if I made anybody feel a little ill.


	3. Bitter

Disclaimer: I don't own death note or L. Though it would be awesome if I did have like a tiny pet L and you'd keep it in a hamster cage and feed it biscuits. :3

A/N: I know it's short. I'm sorry about that. A little bit of blood in this chapter. :(

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As the twelfth clang of the bell wailed and echoed in L's mind, L felt his heart break. He couldn't feel the solid wood beneath him. The overpowering smell of blood was drowning him but it was somewhat muffled and far away to him. The only thing he could hear was the deafening crash of bells, though the clock had stopped chiming a while ago. The scene in front of him was not real.

Unaware of the blood staining his shirt and jeans as he leaned over his mother, tears glistening in his eyes and blinding him with their bitter salt. The way she was laying made it look like she had fallen from the sky and had tried to pull herself together again.

Her shoulder length, wavy, chestnut hair was fanned across the floor, tangled and knotted. Her right arm was resting on her chest, fingers resting on the green necklace she always wore around her neck. Her left arm rested peacefully at her side, fingers limp and slowly getting colder. Her lifeless face was turned towards her broken son; delicate eyelids hiding away the horror of death. If it wasn't for the drying blood, glistening slightly in the sunlight, L would have thought she was asleep.

Without even thinking, he stood up, left the room and closed the door to behind him. Mindlessly, he began walking up the sturdy stairs of the house; looking like a mere phantom of the lively child he had been five minutes previously.

His bedroom seemed different, though he knew that nothing had changed. Even though it was a warm day, L felt as if cold had seeped through to his bones and his soul. Each star shouted out its special word in misery as he staggered back and forth across the room like a dizzy toddler.

Yesterday's star, drawn in orange with a pencil crayon was directly in front of him. "Lodge" was the word they had chosen. His bed was against the far wall; black night sky sheets left in a heap on the mattress.

Lark…

Lisp…

Ludicrous…

Even foreign words such as lendemains which was French for consequences were marked on the wall by a star. L's mother had been teaching him how to speak several different languages using his bedroom.

Shakily, he found the box of colours they used to draw the stars and raked through them to find the right colour. This proved difficult as the tears were shielding the room away from him. Blinking furiously, they fell among the rainbow of crayons and pencils and he managed to find a midnight blue wax crayon. It was their favourite colour.

Drawing a large star on the wall; a sigh of grief shuddered through L, almost causing him to collapse as what just happened registered in his mind. Two thousand, nine hundred and twenty three stars in all.

To stop himself from breaking down, he dropped the crayon to the ground with a thud where it snapped in two and put his thumb in his mouth. It was a childish habit he had never grown out of. A bitter, metallic taste flowed through his mouth and rested on his lips and tongue the moment his thumb made contact with his taste buds. It was the taste of pain, fire and death itself. Quickly removing his thumb from his mouth, he realized that what he had just tasted was the blood of his mother.

The taste clung to him and spread through like a virus. It was only then that he realized he was soaked in her blood. Despair and disgust tore at him as he half ran to the bathroom, trying not to be sick.

With difficulty, he switched the shower onto warm and stepped right into the water fully clothed. The shower was located at the end of the bath; a waterproof curtain drawn around it. However he didn't feel the need to pull the curtain around him. It didn't matter anymore. The blood on his hands washed away but it had no effect on the stained clothing. No matter how many times he rinsed his mouth out, the taste wouldn't leave.

His wet hair dripped down his forehead and in frustration, he bashed his head against the tiles, trying to distract himself from the strange twisting sensation in his chest. He was forced to stop as his own blood dripped down his face and mingled with the water, tears and his mother's blood. If somebody had walked into the room at that moment, that is if the only other person who lived in the house wasn't dead, they could have thought that he was crying blood, death and life itself.

Closing his eyes and leaning against the wall, letting the water wash over him with the pain, he began to think of the star. He couldn't feel the cut on his head due to the tingling numbness. He had already decided that the last star would be the last word of his parents. L.

L was a single letter that had slowly developed into a word as the child grew and as time passed. L's entire bedroom could be part of the definition of L. L meant lost, alone, orphaned, traumatized, intelligent, lonely, curious and cursed. His name had so many different meanings. However, while L was crying and soaking in the shower in his own house; a dead loved one still lying downstairs, he was unaware that in years to come, L would mean "The world's greatest detective."

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A/N: I forgot to thank my reviewers last chapter. :O Bad bad bad Strawberry! Thank you to Danicasdeath, The Blonde One and ActionFry.

The reviews were really helpful and I really appreciate them. I would love it if more people were able to take a moment out of their time to give me feedback. :)


	4. Blood

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note or any of its characters and things like that.

A/N: I'M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG! But I made this chapter longer. :O I hope you guys like it.

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Glassy, glazed eyes stared down at the diluted scarlet, swirling and spinning as it was washed away down the drain. Mixing with the water, it was lost forever. He had no idea whose blood it was. He could put his hand up to his head to check the cut he had caused from trying to break his misery but L felt that any movement would make the whole room sway and tip him out.

He sat in the bathtub, letting the lukewarm water carry him to worlds far away in his mind. The constant sound of liquid slapping against the acrylic of the bath and the tiles of the walls was comforting. How much time had passed? He couldn't say. Partially because the shock had somehow stolen his ability to speak and mainly because he was unsure about whether the constant clanging he heard was all in his head or the large clock telling him how many hours had flown away with the water. Every now and then, the hot water would run cold and the only movement was L's shivering which would only stop when the water warmed again. He was numb with fear, pain and ice.

Wavering eyes stared at the dark emptiness that lay beyond the frosted glass window. That meant that it was late into the night. The room was shrouded in darkness and L struggled to make anything in the room out. Blinded, all he could hear was his own shuddering breaths and sniffles and the splatter of water.

After a while, water gurgled down the drain without the presence of crimson, though L was sure he could still taste and smell the blood. Exhausted, he knew he should sleep but it was impossible. Nausea swept through him and he was sure that he was going to be sick. However, it never seemed to happen.

Several more hours passed and morning was announced when the sun burst out from the ground and mixtures of red, yellow, orange and pink filled the sky and illuminated soft purple clouds. The room looked even more sinister when it was cast in red light. The blood on the shower curtain glistened and the red patches that were out of reach of the constant flow of water were clear against the white of the bath. Daylight only reminded L of previous events.

A familiar feeling wrapped itself around L and it took him a few moments to identify it as hunger. Disgust then took over. Why should he still feel hungry after all of this? It was only then that he remembered it was his birthday today. Eight years old.

What an earth was he going to do?

Not even the distant chirping of the birds was calming him down. He couldn't find the will to move or do anything at all, despite the water now being stone cold. Teeth chattering and lip wobbling, he realized that if he were to remain at all, it would be crouched in this bath.

The ringing of the phone pierced through the bells in L's mind and shattered the metallic clanging, replacing it with the artificial trill. It was only then that it occurred to him that even though he was alone in his house and all signs of life all gone, the world beyond the walls was still moving. Yet still, the thought of reaching out and throwing himself back to other beings made him feel tired and he just let it go to the answer phone.

_"I'm currently unavailable at the moment. However, please leave a message after the beep._

His mother's voice tore through him like a thousand burning blades. He could hear the smile. He could hear her contentment. Somebody started talking after that, but L was no longer listening.

The pain from the cut on his head was fading gradually. Had it stopped bleeding or was he just used to it now? L felt as if he had absorbed half of the icy liquid in a similar way to a rag doll.

Judging by how high up in the sky the sun was, L predicted that it was about ten o clock when there was a knock on his door. It was a loud knock that screamed authority and it was enough to make L sit up quickly. A few seconds ticked by and then there was another knock, louder and more anxious.

Weary arms pushed up and L stood up stiffly. As he stood up and stepped out of the shower, small rivers of water spilled onto the tiles. On the floor he noticed a trail of bloody footprints across the tile. As he shuffled blankly into the hall and past this bedroom, he realized that he had left them wherever he walked and now he was leaving small puddles of water. He was so cold.

On the other side of the door stood two worried Wammys. Mrs. Wammy pounded the door in frustration. Nobody had shown up for dinner or answered her phone calls and a gut feeling told her that this wasn't right. Her husband, Quillsh Wammy, stood next to her calmly. Personally, he thought she was just overreacting but he'd never dare say it.

"Anybody home?" she called through the door. Then before her husband could stop her, she tried to open the door and was surprised to see it wasn't locked.

The elderly couple reeled and stumbled a few steps backwards at the powerful smell of blood erupting from the house. It was clear that something wasn't right. It seemed that she wasn't overreacting after all. Quillsh barred the way into the house and silently insisted that he entered the building first. He was the stronger of the two and potential dangers could be just around the corner.

Reluctantly, he had to remove his arm from the doorframe and give her entry. He knew how stubborn she could be and the stern glare she gave him told him that she wanted to know what was going on. Not even the scent of death could put this woman off when she had her mind set on something.

Both of them shuffled onto the faded cream carpet and it didn't take a genius to work out that the soaked carpet was not stained with red wine. Both of the old aged pensioners were horrified and overwhelmed and it took the loud creak of a stair to snap their attention to the figure at the top of the stairs. A shriek echoed and bounced against the walls and if Quillsh hadn't caught his wife, she would have sunk to the floor.

At the top of the stairs stood a twisted angel, arms outstretched as if he was silently asking 'why?' The long, dark hair plastered to pale, drained skin. It seems that even hair as explosive as L's would stay in place if drowned for several hours. Clothes clung to him, the white tinged with patches of red. Blood from the wound on his head slithered down a watery path on his face and it was difficult to tell if the droplets on his cheeks were tears or just the results of his previous actions. Dark, lonely eyes gazed down at them, unblinking. Glimmers of trauma flickered through them and the two adults felt as if they were staring right into L's soul and empty mind. Whatever element it is that makes us human and not robot seemed to be absent.

He wondered why they'd walked into his house. Wasn't that trespassing? He was dizzy and an unsure foot thudded to the top stair. One hand clung to the banister as he made their way towards them with almost jerky, puppet like movements. He was so very cold now that he was exposed to the wind blowing gently through the open door. It froze his skin and caused him to violently shake.

Mrs. Wammy then seemed to grasp control of the situation and no longer relied on her husband to keep her standing on her feet. Advancing a few more steps, she gasped when she realized who she was staring at. The sound hit L and although still stiff and cold from his plunging into the water, he was pulled back to reality and his eyes fixed on Mrs. Wammy's.

Finally he reached the last step and stood in front of them with a heartbroken gaze. It was Quillsh who finally broke the thick silence as L whimpered almost inaudibly and Mrs. Wammy stared at him blankly, desperately trying to work out what to do.

"If we don't warm him up quickly, the chances of him having hypothermia increase."

She understood that. The two adults realized that at that moment, their priority was to keep the small child out of harm's way. They'd ask questions later.

Oblivious to the dead body that was so close to them; Mrs. Wammy gently took L's hand and led him up the stairs. Just the contact of his fingers grasping hers made her shiver. He was deathly pale and it almost burned to be touching something so cold. Quillsh followed behind them, holding his hands out and making sure they didn't fall.

It took them at least one minute to get to the top of the stairs. L was shaking so much that it was almost impossible to move which made the adults even more concerned. Slow movements were a common symptom of hypothermia.

By the time they had taken him up all of the stairs, his breath was sharp and rasping. Quickly, he drew in the air and continued to tremble. For a couple of seconds, she froze in shock as she stared at the trail of footprints that wandered across the top landing but Quillsh, realizing that now wasn't the time, pushed gently on her shoulders and caused her to continue taking L back to the bathroom.

"We need to dry him off, quickly." She said hoarsely, struggling to yank his stained shirt over his head. If only he would stay still. With a slop, she threw it to the tiles. With difficulty, the two adults managed to undress the child until he was stood shivering, exposed and naked to the frozen air. Quillsh handed his wife a pile of towels and with haste, multiple towels were wrapped around L.

"Go make some tea. We need to warm him up quickly and it's vital that we do so by starting at the inside." Mrs. Wammy ordered as she ruffled L's hair with a towel and stemmed the flow of blood from the wound on his head. Before she had retired, she had been a nurse and was familiar with treating patients suffering from hypothermia. As she gently dried him, his hair began spiking and sticking up in the familiar way it did before.

Trembling less now, he sniffled and clung to her skirt like he used to do to his mother. Bending down, she wrapped her arms around him and held him close. The violent shaking made the embrace awkward and he had to be steadied. Comforting words and sounds were gently whispered into his ear and his breathing became more rhythmic. A muffled sob could be heard.

After a few moments, Quillsh returned with a steaming mug and it was held to L. However, although his hands took hold of the handle, the old man didn't let go. The way the boy was shaking meant that he could spill it all over in just the slightest movement.

With the aid of the two kind elders, he brought the mug up to his lips and the burning hot liquid slithered down his throat. Salty tears mixed with the sweet mixture and still, nothing got rid of the terrible taste that still remained on the tip of his tongue.

"What happened?" She asked and L buried his head in the blankets and shook it, reluctant to say anything. Firm hands scooped him up, towels and all, and carried him back to the hall. Stiffening up and wriggling he tried to escape but found that in his weak state, he couldn't. Still cold and wearing nothing but several towels, he was placed firmly on the wood of the floor and now that he was shaking less and there wasn't so much liquid in the mug, he was allowed to grip the drink and consume it himself.

"Where's your mother?" The clear voice asked him. L stared at the man kneeling uncomfortably before him, his nose wrinkling at the foul smell. Mrs. Wammy snorted in slight distaste. Violently shaking, a bare arm pointed towards the living room and everybody looked at the door.

Gravely, Quillsh pushed the door and it creaked open to reveal the fallen angel lying in a pool of congealing blood. The smell became stronger and viler; burning away the delicate skin of unaccustomed noses. The remaining colour drained away from Mrs. Wammy's face as they saw the sight.

Hands reached for telephones, squawks and shrieks echoed with the bells and they scurried around, calling for the police and ambulances. However, L was no longer concentrating. Pulling the towels around him, he sat on the floor and gulped down the tea, trying to forget all that would never be forgotten.

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A/N: I could _really_ use some reviews right now guys. (: They really help me with my writing and motivate me. Thanks to ActionFry, Danicasdeath and Kitty-chan and Nya-chan for reviewing.


	5. Killer

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note. :)

A/N: I know I know guys. I'm sorry it took so long! D: Thank you Danicasdeath, Posies, crazylittleperson, ActionFry and HarajukaSushi for reviewing! :D

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Tender arms carried the bundle of towels and L back up the stairs, gently uttering comforting words, though Mrs. Wammy seemed to be pretty shaken up herself. Unsure footsteps took L back to his bedroom. The sanctuary of stars beamed down and winked at him, causing another wave of tears to crash down his cheeks and for him to shudder more than he was before.

He was held close to the lady who was acting just like the grandmother he had never had as she made sure he didn't fall apart and he was shielded from any nearby dangers. Awkwardly she managed to pull open the drawers that stood in the room and tried to find another set of clothing for him to wear

Another blank shirt was pulled over his head and more plain jeans were given to him. The towels had absorbed the moisture that had clung to L after his recent shower and now although a little cold and his hair damp, he was mostly dry.

It was only then when he realized what had happened in the past few hours. His mother was gone forever. He was alone. What would happen now? Realizing that he would never be able to hear her laugh or whisper words to him again he cried out in partial surprise and once again buried himself in Mrs. Wammy's arms.

"I know… I know…" she muttered sympathetically, rocking him slightly as if he were a baby. In the distance, she could hear sirens and knew that help was on its way. L wasn't aware of the approaching vehicles. It was all just irrelevant background music over metallic clanging.

Dizziness swept over him and the room swam around him, spiralling and whirling; the stars now a vortex of colour. He was no longer supporting his own weight. A swift movement laid him on the ground and rested his trembling legs against the pile of sodden towels in an attempt to make his legs higher than his head. If L had eaten in the past twenty four hours, he would probably have thrown up.

There was the clatter of other people arriving and the rabble of what appeared to be six voices talking. If you concentrated you could have heard the grimace in their voices. If L hadn't been half unconscious he may have heard them stating that it was such a shame. Hurried footsteps stomped upstairs and three people entered. Two were from the ambulance and had a stretcher. Both were male. One had ebony hair and a stern look. The other had chestnut hair and a concerned face. The third was a policewoman with wavy fiery red hair and a soothing voice. Gasping and juddering in dismay, L was lifted onto the stretcher and carried out of the house.

L had no idea how long it took for the ambulance to get to the local hospital. He felt as if he were far away and looking down on the scene. The numb feeling of emptiness felt… wrong. He'd rather feel pain so that he knew he still had emotion than nothing at all. Vision flickering; he couldn't feel the surface beneath him. The moment a gentle hand brushed against his fingers and squeezed them in comfort was the moment he plunged into a frozen reality and once again made contact with the world. Something cruel had stolen away his ability to cry and all he could do was choke desperately.

It was if he were in a bubble. From inside the bubble, everything was in slow motion, time no longer relevant and the only thing mattering was the air that rushed in and out of his lungs. Outside of the bubble, figures zoomed around at speeds that were impossible; voices promising him safety didn't register in his mind.

As the world overpowered him and crashed down, he found that he could no longer take everything in. Exhaustion was taking over and giddily, he allowed himself to fall into a deep slumber.

Scarlet blades and sinister shadows clouded his mind as the nightmares were unleashed. Figures crouched beside dying people, the glint of a grin as they dipped fingers into warm blood. Hunched monsters flashed through L's mind and everything was happening so quickly. Nothing was clear. Nothing but the dark coppery smell and taste.

Electric eyes shot open and met the bright room of the hospital and a strangled noise left L's lips as he sat up and looked at the people sat around him. He saw the two Wammy's looking concerned, a woman he recognized as Mrs. Larsen and a nurse.

"He's just shocked. We'll be able to send him home. That is if the social services hurry up and find one for him." And with that, the nurse left the room.

Mrs. Wammy took hold of his hand and squeezed it gently. He looked up at her with no facial expression. She returned his stare with a concerned and almost heartbroken gaze that showed sympathy on all her features from the soft eyes to the unhappy wrinkles engraved in her powdery skin. He was a lot warmer now.  
"They stitched your head back together." Mr. Wammy informed the young boy. L was patiently waiting for an explanation of why Mrs. Larsen of all the people in the world was beside the bed as well when a polite knock on the door interrupted the scene.

Without waiting for the door to be answered, a police woman with very short and spiky blonde hair and a police man with brown hair and a fringe that swept into his eyes walked into the room.  
"We're sorry to intrude but we're here to question L Lawliet about the death of Amber Lawliet." The woman said. She turned to the other adults in the room. "Are Quillsh Wammy, Molly Wammy and Noxa Larsen all present?" There was a murmur of confirmation.

The lady sat on the side of the bed and stared into L's eyes, the man standing nearby, pen poised over notebook.  
"How old are you L?" she asked calmly. He opened his mouth, lips trembling and head tilted slightly to the side.

"It's my birthday today." His voice was strangled and painful to hear. The police woman was patient and knew he was still in shock. Realising that he really needed a friendly conversation, she didn't demand an answer to her question immediately.  
"Your birthday is on Halloween?"  
"Yes. I'm eight years old." He replied steadily.  
"And where were you at about five minutes to twelve on the 29th of October?"  
"I was playing in the garden." He responded, casting a nervous glance at Mrs. Larsen whose garden it was.

It was at that moment that the police man stopped writing and stepped in.  
"Surely you would have seen or heard the murderer if you were playing in the garden?" With a broken gasp at the reminder of how much L had lost, he replied to the question with a guilty tone.  
"I didn't specifically state which garden I was playing in."

"Whose garden were you playing in and why were you there at the time?" he asked. L clenched the bed sheets in his fists and released them to calm himself.

"I was in Mrs. Larsen's garden."

Mrs. Larsen's eyebrows rose slightly yet L didn't apologise.  
"I was exploring." He said calmly.  
"Is there anybody to clarify that you were there at that time?" the woman asked.  
"I was." Mrs. Wammy interrupted; remembering that she had spotted L in Mrs. Larsen's garden.  
"Did your mother say anything to you before she died?"  
"My name." The questions continued. He answered them all as well as he good, clinging to the sheets every time he felt the tears well up.

They turned and began questioning the other adults. L brought his legs up to his chest and held himself together.

"I called the house at half past six, seven o clock and nine and there was no reply." Mrs. Wammy explained sadly. "They were supposed to be coming to dinner with us." Mr. Wammy then leaned forward and spoke.  
"It was Mrs. Larsen that knocked on our door at about ten this morning and said she had a suspicious phone call about the Lawliet household. We were already worried about them because they never showed up. We then went to the house and discovered L and his mother. The police looked at Mrs. Larsen in interest.  
"What did the person say to you?"  
"I'm sure it was the killer! They told me that if nobody were to check the Lawliet household soon, more damage than there already was would be done."  
"And what time was this phone call?"  
"Five to ten."

More and more questions were asked. L silently listened, wishing he could have something to eat.  
"L, did you hear the phone ring at all when you were upstairs?" he nodded, remembering the bells in his head being interrupted.  
"Do you know what time they called?"  
"Before they found me. About five to ten." He explained. The police glanced at each other and the man wrote one final thing in his book then snapped it shut.  
"We'll return to ask more questions. For now, we are done with you." The man said and with that they left.

The nurse entered the room once more; frowning in disapproval.  
"It's really not good for him to be surrounded after this." As if to punctuate her words, a lady wearing a while blouse and above the knee skirt walked into the room. L stared at her in disbelief. She looked so much like his mother that it hurt.  
"L Lawliet?" she asked. It finally occurred to L that she must be the social worker.  
"Yes." The nurse said in a tired voice.

The social worked looked at a big binder and flipped through it until she found the page she was looking for.  
"I understand that a Noxa Larsen has offered to take L in?" she asked, looking at the three adults. Mrs. Larsen stepped forward, brushing her curled, dyed brown hair out of her green eyes. She was about fifty years old with a firm jaw and a sense of authority. A bossy woman who was strong and tall.  
"That's me."  
"Well I have the paperwork here." the social worker said as she eased a few sheets of paper from the file.

Mrs. Larsen signed a few papers and nodded at a few things the social worker said.  
"You'll be taking L home as soon as he is ready to leave the hospital, I'll be checking up on you every week for at least two months. We'll see how it goes from there." Mrs. Larsen nodded once more as the social worker left. She turned to L and looked him in the eye.

"I'm going to take care of you."

Staring into the eyes of this woman, L got a gut feeling. That moment was an eternity as he realised what this woman was capable of. She was capable of killing a woman; even if the woman had a child. L knew as he stared into the eyes of Mrs. Larsen that he was starting into the eyes of a killer.


	6. Escape

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.

A/N: To make up for the lack of updates I spent all day writing this one for you guys. :D I hope you find it interesting. It was quite difficult to write. I worked so hard to keep L in character. xD Thank you so much to Danicasdeath for reviewing.

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"Just sleep."

That's what they had told him. L lay in the hospital bed with curtains closed. They didn't filter the daylight well and all they really did was dim the room. He stared at the sterile tiled ceiling and pinched the crisp and starchy sheets with his fingers. Mrs. Larsen's gaze was imprinted on his irises. It had been confident and it seemed to be almost hungry. As if it was to captivate him, trap him and then consume him. He was positive that she was the one who had killed his mother. But now what? She was going to take him in. This was getting dangerous.

He remembered what she had said to him after giving him that stare.  
_"I'm going to take care of you." _It was like a promise. She sounded so sure of herself when she said it. Take care of him? Was that code language for her getting rid of him for good? He shivered and ducked under the covers. What an earth was he going to do? He was all alone now. Letting the tears dribble down his features, he wished that his mother was still alive. She'd know what to do.

He squeezed his eyes shut and nuzzled the pillow. The bed was unfamiliar and unwelcoming to him. If he tried to sleep he would probably have nightmares. The only thing stopping him from getting up and running was the fact that he was still cold to the core. The room was too bright. He could see the red of his eyelids as he desperately begged for sleep. Any escape from reality would do. He silently decided that the next nurse to stick her head around the door would be begged to make the room darker. The redness reminded him too much of the blood that had singed his tongue and remained dithering on his taste buds.

But then again, at least he could see. He didn't want to be blind when he was in the situation he was now in. He buried his head into the duvet that smelled so strongly of detergent. He should just relax. No that was silly! He had to be on his toes. He snapped his eyes open in fear and glanced at the door. The blinds had been pulled over the window but… he could see a shadow. A woman who seemed to be quite old with the way she was hunched slightly. Her hair was loose and- This was it! He was sure that it was Mrs. Larsen.

He heard a voice and the lips of the shadow moved in time to the words. The click of the hinge as a hand rested onto the door handle. She pressed it down and L bit his lip to stop himself from crying out. Despite being so cold earlier he was now burning with fear and his palms were sweating. His skin tingled nervously and he tried not to hyperventilate as the door creaked open. A figure holding a large heavy object stepped towards him.  
"AAAAAARH!"

"I'm sorry dear did I scare you?" Mrs. Wammy said in an upset tone as she stepped into the room. "I brought some of the muffins I was baking here because I thought you'd need something to cheer you up."

With a relieved sigh L relaxed. He was sure that this woman intended no harm to him at all. Her husband entered the room after her and closed the door.  
"We spoke to the nurse and she said it would be okay if you had one." Mrs. Wammy continued as she opened the biscuit tin she held and the comforting smell of home baking filled the room and masked the hospital smell. She offered him the tin and the monster they named hunger in his stomach roared as he realised how starving he was. A trembling hand reached out and automatically picked up the largest chocolate muffin.

Ignoring the fact that he was in the company of people he didn't know very well, he crammed it into his mouth and ate it in record breaking time. The sweetness melted and caressed his tongue, taking away the pain and bitter blood. Eyes fluttering shut in bliss; he swallowed. When he opened his eyes he saw Mr. and Mrs. Wammy watching him in interest. Mrs. Wammy seemed to be pleased with how well her baking had gone down.  
"I'm sure they won't mind if you have another." She said with a smile, offering the tin again. Warmth spread through him.

"Are you okay?" Mr. Wammy asked as L, who had finished devouring the muffin, once again pulled his legs up to his chest and crouched. He looked at the elderly man and responded.  
"I just feel safer this way." They both nodded.  
"The nurse said you should be sleeping, so we'll leave now." Mrs. Wammy said, closing the biscuit tin and leaving it on the table. "You can have the rest of the muffins."

They both stood up and began to leave, opening the door. Just before it closed behind them, L called out to Mr. Wammy.  
"One moment please, sir." He begged. Mr. Wammy opened the door again and made eye contact with L. His wife stood behind him in interest. "There's a matter I wish to discuss with the pair of you." They exchanged glances and entered the room once more. "I wish to speak to you in confidentiality." He added.

They were a little taken aback with the extent of the eight year old's vocabulary but nevertheless they shut the door and drew chairs up to his bed. For a few moments he just started at them, not taking them in at all as he gathered and collected his thoughts.  
"As serious an accusation it is, I suspect that Mrs. Larsen is the killer." He said calmly; heading straight for the point. The two adults seemed to be pretty shocked, as expected.  
"Do you have any evidence?" Mr. Wammy asked eventually.  
"It's just instinct. However she has no alibi and has stepped in claiming that the killer contacted her therefore she is a suspect."

Mrs. Wammy looked at him in disbelief.  
"Shouldn't you be speaking to the police about your suspicions?"  
"Madam, that would be a foolish move. Let's pretend for a moment that you are the killer. You hear that somebody suspects you. What would you try to do?" Mrs. Wammy looked at him in slight defeat. "You would try to get rid of them, correct? If I don't prove to the police that she is the killer immediately and the information that I believe she is the one who murdered my mother is leaked, it would surely result in my death."

Mr. Wammy now spoke up, now understanding where L was coming from.  
"But surely, if we leak the information, you'll end up dead as well? How do you know we can be trusted?" L looked him right in the eye and answered the question without hesitation, still crouched in the bed.  
"At the time of my mother's death I was with Mrs. Wammy so I know for a fact that she is not the killer. As for you, you would barely have enough time to make the phone call from the killer to my household before Mrs. Larsen knocked on your door and told you about the phone call she received. Mobile phones are also very large and when you arrived at my house you weren't carrying one so I doubt you contacted the house while you were on your way over."  
"I fail to see the reason why you speak to us rather than the police though."  
"Mr. Wammy, I trust you and I request that you trust me as well." Mr. Wammy looked at L as if he were insane. The boy had only just turned eight and yet he had so much authority and potential.  
"As you have said, I require evidence to prove my suspicions. I ask both of you for your assistance."

Mr. Wammy thought about it for a moment.  
"I have no doubt that you shall not share this information with another as doing so could potentially put your life at risk." L spoke again.  
"What do you want us to do?" Mrs. Wammy asked uncertainly.  
"Mr. Wammy I ask you to escort me to my own home so that I can listen to the phone call and confirm my suspicions. Please note that accompanying me to the house may result in many consequences. The killer may be in wait for us." Mrs. Wammy looked alarmed at this comment.  
"What happens if he refuses to take you there?"  
"Then I shall go alone."  
"Very well then." Mr. Wammy said without even pausing. It was far too dangerous to let L enter the house by himself.  
"Why are you even agreeing?! L should be sat in hospital, not messing around at a murder scene!" Mrs. Wammy cried in frustration.  
"You have to trust me." L said.  
"Why would listening to the phone call confirm your suspicions?" Mr. Wammy asked curiously.

L put his thumb into his mouth as the taste of the muffins faded away and the unpleasant aftertaste of his mother's death bathed his tongue again.  
"Mrs. Larsen claimed that the killer called her house at exactly five to ten. If my suspicions are correct, the phone call at my house should also be at exactly five to ten. How can a person make two separate phone calls at the same time? I considered the possibility that the killer is not working alone however I am almost certain that Mrs. Larsen is the only person involved. Why would the killer contact Mrs. Larsen? Without a doubt, I am sure that Mrs. Larsen was lying about that phone call." The adults were staring at him with the stunned expressions again.

"What do you like me to do, L?" Mr. Wammy asked, realising that there was no use stopping him now.  
"I'll need some more evidence that Mrs. Larsen is in fact the killer. The police won't be eager to rule out the possibility that she is not working alone. I'm going to need to search her house."  
"You want to _trespass_?" Mrs. Wammy said in disbelief.  
"Yes, I do." He replied patiently, not flustered about it at all. Mrs. Wammy caved in.  
"What's the plan?"  
"At six o clock this evening, yourself and your husband shall knock on her door and invite her out to a meal with you. Whatever you do, make sure that she has no choice and must go to a restaurant with you. Take a taxi down to the restaurant and keep her there until at least half past seven. It is vital that you do not spend even one moment alone with her and must be in public at all times. We cannot allow her to have the opportunity to kill you. Mr. Wammy, you're an inventor, correct?"  
"That is correct."  
" As an inventor I assume that you have such a device as a tape recorder?"  
"Yes, I do."  
"In that case Mrs. Wammy. I ask you to keep a tape recorder in your purse and record the conversation. Mrs. Larsen may let something slip if she has a little too much wine to drink. Mr. Wammy, does Mrs. Larsen know that you're an inventor?"  
"Yes, is that a problem?" he replied.  
"And would she rely on you to fix a broken door?" L responded, ignoring the question.  
"Yes I think she would if I offered."  
"In that case, here's the plan…"

It was ten minutes after Mr. and Mrs. Wammy left the hospital before L peeled back the covers and jumped out of bed. He was still wearing his plain white shirt and jeans as he had refused to change into the hospital gown. Without evening bothering with shoes, he pushed his door open slightly and was pleased to see no nurses walking by. He slipped out of the room and tried to blend in with the visitors that walked back and forth down the corridor. He had to be careful and make sure he wasn't spotted. He mustn't be gone from the hospital too long otherwise there would be a big panic and Mrs. Larsen would find out. He was certain that she would realise that he was on to her if she discovered he was missing from the hospital.

He successfully reached the lobby of the hospital. A fancy glass front desk with three busy looking women behind it watched the large glass front doors. He ducked behind people passing by every time a nurse or doctor walked past him on their way through one of the many double swing doors that branched out to the rest of the hospital. He crept past the luscious leather chairs and dark brown coffee table next to the large television and scooted past the vending machine before finally reaching the entrance and dashing out of the hospital.

He rocketed through the car park; the skin on the bottom of his feet screaming in agony as he slammed them onto the tarmac. It was about a ten minute drive to his house from here. After he reached the edge of the car park and left the premises completely he walked casually to avoid drawing too much attention to himself.

For five minutes he walked down the street, hands shoved into his pockets and eyes concentrating on the ground. He nearly walked straight past Mr. Wammy in his car. Looking up just in time, he opened the door and slid into the seat next to Mr. Wammy. He started the engine and they skidded down the road.  
"Forgive the violent driving but its half past five already and we need to be at Mrs. Larsen's door by six." He explained. L nodded in approval, glad that they were sticking exactly to the plan.

They stopped the car around the corner from the house and stepped out as L had explained that it was suspicious to have the car sitting right in front the house. They walked into the front garden and L closed his eyes in remorse as he remembered yesterday and the familiar cold tickling of the grass on his feet. It was as if he was going to follow the trails of cats again and replay the horrific event.

He opened his eyes and automatically walked to the nearest flowerbed and dug in the dirt with his bare hands. He loosened the soil and pulled out a key that would have been shiny if it wasn't covered in mud. He wiped the majority of the soil off of the key and walked towards Mr. Wammy and the door.

They unlocked it easily and entered the building cautiously. It smelled strongly of blood though they both knew that the mess would have been cleaned up by now.  
"Where's the phone?"  
"In the front room." L said nervously. He knew he would have to walk back into that room again and it tore into his chest with savage pain. Taking a shuddering deep breath; he went into the room. The bells in his mind shrilled louder than they had done since he had first seen his mangled mother and the taste in his mouth spread throughout him. The room was so empty and lifeless now. He reached for the phone and pressed play to hear the messages. The first few were from Mrs. Wammy; he fast forwarded through these. Finally he got to the message from the killer.  
_"October the 31__st__, 9:55." _L instantly pressed stop, not wishing to hear the message as even the first syllable of whatever the killer had to say in the crude disguised voice stabbed at him.

"It was Mrs. Larsen. She killed my mother."

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A/N: :) If you read it and you enjoyed it or hated it, either way I'd love to read a review so I can improve my work. It's great to hear back from people who read what I write.


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